


Should I Stay or Should I Go?

by PacificHeights



Series: punk au [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, F/M, Hamilton - Freeform, Hamliza, Punk, Wow, also, and also hi, appreciate my tags, but thats okay, hah, i am sO original, i didnt just write this, im going to post here now, im kinda high rn, im really tired tbh, this was already written, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacificHeights/pseuds/PacificHeights
Summary: HamlizaBut it's a songfic (but not really)And also a punk AU





	Should I Stay or Should I Go?

**Author's Note:**

> I have been too insecure to post on ao3 until now but that's okay because I am high off my ass rn and don't even care so I know I'm not like ao3 standards but im also stoned out of my goddamned mind and incredibly lonely it's five in the morning

She was fucking over it. 

It was absolutely fucking ridiculous of him to think that she would just sit there, not saying a damn thing about what he was doing. 

She was fucking over him. 

He was fucking her over. 

She was done being fucked over by him. At first, it had been fine - their relationship had been so, so good to begin with. He wrote her love letters, poems, held her hand under the moonlit sky as they walked through the park. It had been perfect. Everything she could have dreamed of. 

Then, two years into their romance novel of a relationship, it had changed. 

He had changed.

Instead of coming home to spend time with her, he went out. 

Alex was such a fucking lightweight - two beers and he was done. It made no sense for him to be going out all of the time. He was a homebody, a hard worker, and not a party person, no matter how hard his friends tried to make him into one. 

It just hadn’t made sense to her, when he had started staying out late. 

Now that she knew the situation, though, she understood.

Another woman. 

They hadn’t been sleeping together - at least, she didn’t think so; she hoped not - but that didn’t change the fact that he was looking at her in an entirely too friendly way, and spending more time with her than he spent with his girlfriend, who he lived with. How he managed not to see someone he shared a bed every night with as much as he saw that other woman was unknown to Eliza, but it was what was happening. 

She was so confused.

Should she stay? Should she go? What did he want from her? Was he waiting for her to leave him because he was too much of a fucking coward to break up with her himself? 

She just hoped he wouldn’t do it over text.

She deserved more than a god damned text.

She was lying on their bed, feet on the ground with her Doc Martens still laced tightly on her feet, staring up at the ceiling.

What the fuck was she supposed to do? 

Eliza had never been one for relationships - in fact, Alexander was her first - and she knew not what the appropriate response would be. Should she yell at him? Hit him with a pillow? 

Probably not. 

Taking the mature and adult route seemed like it would result in a better outcome. Perhaps, if Alexander could put his massive ego aside and actually listen for once instead of immediately going into defense mode, they would be able to work it out. 

Perhaps.

Or, perhaps she should end it when he got home. Take her pictures, take her clothes, take her bottle of Smirnoff and just leave. 

She wasn’t one for confrontation. Maybe she should just leave now. Leave now, block his number, and never return.

That was childish. She couldn’t do that. No matter how bad he was being to her, she couldn’t just leave him with no explanation. That would be terrible of her, and Eliza was not a terrible person.

She absent mindedly clinked her tongue ring against her teeth. She knew that it was bad for her teeth - her older sister and Alex both reminded her constantly - but she had been doing it since she got her tongue pierced at eighteen, and after four years of doing it, it was a hard habit to break. 

Eliza sighed in an overdramatic fashion, groaning as she closed her eyes. Her body hurt. She hadn’t been doing anything strenuous, but it was those stupid fucking menstrual cramps. She was extra on edge with her cramps being as bad as they were, and when Alex came back, she was most likely going to explode.

Honestly, she just wanted a chocolate cupcake, some tea, and to curl up in her boyfriend’s arms, but, no, she couldn’t, because her boyfriend was off being a fucking scoundrel. He was so getting his ass handed to him when he came back, she decided. 

She sat up, resting her hands on her stomach in an attempt to alleviate the pain, and after a moment of sitting there, trying to come to terms with the fact that her uterus was slowly trying to murder her, she stood, walking over to their dresser. She grabbed the picture of them on their most recent date, about a month ago - they were standing in front of a bar, Eliza in Alexander's arms; they had been going to see Moses Campbell, and it ended being a wonderful experience in which the performer had not shown up and they had had a steamy encounter in the bar bathroom together. Eliza’s hair had been longer then, reaching her mid back. Now, it was a nice chin length bob with an undercut. She had cut her hair after a small existential crisis, like most normal people would do. 

She sighed, staring at the picture for a full minute before setting it back down in its proper place, right next to the couple of candles that Eliza kept in their room, and then fished her phone out of her pocket. Stupid skinny jeans - the pockets were always too shallow for her liking, if they even had any. 

[To: Goatee Man]: Are you coming home tonight? [18:04]  
[To: Goatee Man]: There’s some stuff I want to talk to you about, so it would be awful swell if you could come home before midnight, pal. [18:05]

She kept her phone in her hand as she walked out into the living room, thinking that, maybe, she could try and be productive while she waited. What was there to do? She had done the laundry, done the dishes, and vacuumed at the start of the week. They didn’t have any pets, aside from their fish, who was appropriately named Kitten, so it wasn’t as though there was a need to vacuum every other day. 

She flopped on the couch, waiting for her boyfriend to text back.

Six ten. No text.

Six fifteen. No text.

Six twenty, two rounds of minesweeper, and still no text. 

Six twenty five, still no text.

Six twenty seven, and the door opened. Alex walked in, looking as tired as ever, a cup of coffee in his hand. God dammit, she had told him to cut back on the fucking coffee - it made him shake like a fucking chihuahua. 

“You’re home.” She commented. Alex nodded, walking straight for the kitchen. She stood, following him into tiled room. She watched as he set his coffee down and pull a glass from the cupboard, filling it up with water from the water dispenser - sink water was a likely carcinogen.

“I’m home.” He confirmed, his eyes meeting hers as he took a sip, and then set the glass back on the counter.

“Wasn’t expecting you this early.” She said, watching his movements intently. Nothing strange so far. He seemed tense, but, then again, he always seemed tense. 

“Well… I’m home.” He threw his arms up and gave her a look of utter exasperation. He was acting like she had been riding his ass to get home. She had sent two texts. Two, and he hadn’t even responded to them.

“Good. You should come home more often.” She hadn’t raised her voice, but the tinge of annoyance was most definitely there. Her tone sounded accusatory, almost. 

“It’s not like I never come home. I’m here every night.” Alex shot back.  
“Not until after midnight most nights.”   
“Semantics - I still come home every night.” He huffed. He picked his water back up and took another sip. Was he stress drinking water? Probably. 

Eliza sighed and shook her head - not in disagreement, more in disapproval - before hopping up on the counter, sitting with her legs dangling off it. “Alex, you have to give me something to work with.” She said after a moment of silence.   
“What do you mean? I give you plenty to work with.”   
“I mean… I need to know what you want. I need to know what I should do. Should I stay or should I go? If you want me off your back, then you gotta let me know if I should stay or if I should go. I’m not a fucking mind reader, Alexander. I don’t know what you want me to do.” She hissed. She knew that she should compose herself - not raise her voice, not change her tone - but, god dammit, she was done being polite. Being polite with him got her nowhere. 

“I want you to stay. Why is this even a question you’re asking me?” He was brushing her off again - acting as though she was too naive to see the way that he was around other women. As if. Eliza was smart. She was quiet, but observant, and she had more shit on Alexander than there was in a manure farm. 

“Why is it a question I’m asking you? I think you know. Jesus, Alexander, you don’t come home until I’m asleep, you’ve started drinking, you’re hanging around with another woman-”   
“She’s just a friend!” He defended.   
“Mhm. Sure. Yeah, alright. Just a friend whose perfume you reek of when you come home every night. Sure.” Eliza wasn’t dense. Not that dense, at least. “You better not be fucking her… Are you fucking her?”   
“What? No! I- why would you think that?” He huffed, setting his water down once more and crossing his arms over his chest. His posture was entirely too defensive for her liking. “I’m not fucking anyone but you.”   
“You aren’t even doing that anymore.” She deadpanned.   
“That isn’t my fault.”   
“Of course it’s your fault. How is it not your fault? You haven’t been home in time for me to be awake enough to do that in a month!” She exclaimed. Was he really going to stand there and push the blame off on her?

She wasn’t the reason their relationship was crumbling, last time she checked. 

“So? You could stay up and wait for me!” Of course that was Alexander’s response. Of course he was making it seem like it was her fault. Of course.   
“I never know when you’re getting back, and I, like normal people who don’t drink enough coffee to make them a fucking vibrator, need to sleep.” She shot back. 

She detested fighting. It wasn’t her strong suit at all. Alex? He was good at it. Eliza? Not so much. She was always too sympathetic and afraid of hurting him to take low blows or say what she really wanted to.

This time, though, she was angry enough to lash out, it seemed. Her version of lashing out, at least.

“Look,” She started, slipping off of the counter, standing firmly on her feet, “this indecision’s bugging me. If you don’t want me, Alexander, then just fucking set me free! I’m sick and fucking tired of having my heart toyed with. I’m sick and fucking tired of being put after your work, after your friends, after women you obviously have an interest in…” She shook her head. Why was she still standing there, talking to him? He was a stubborn asshole who would never change his mind once it was set. 

“Eliza, wait, I- no, c’mon, it isn’t like that.” He stepped closer to her.

He looked like a kicked puppy, and for a moment, she almost believed him. 

“Then what’s it like, Alexander?” She asked, “What are you doing, if not avoiding me? Huh? Secretly going to the NASA headquarters every night to train for your mission to the moon?”   
“If I said yes, would you believe me?”   
“You’re ridiculous.” Eliza scowled.   
“But you love me.” He looked so smug when he said that that Eliza was tempted to walk out right then and there. Who was he to tell her how she did or did not feel? He hadn’t told her he loved her in a month, she was sure. Why was it fair for him to assume that her feelings were the same as they had been a month ago? 

She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt, honestly. 

Did she love him at one point?   
Yes.   
Did she love him now?   
Debatably less than she had at one point. 

“I just need to know if I should stay or I should go.” She started after a moment, “I need to know that if I stay, you’ll be home more often. I need you to promise me that. I want you home by ten to kiss me goodnight at the very least, Sunday through Thursday night.” That was her offer. If he could promise her that, she could give him another chance. 

“How is that fair?” He challenged.  
“What do you mean, ‘how is that fair’? How is that anything but fair? Here I am, giving you an ultimatum - one that isn’t even absurd in the slightest - and you’re asking me ‘how is that fair’?” She glared.   
“You’re taking away my freedom and right to be out as late as I want. I’m an adult.” He snarked.   
“Yeah, an adult who forgets to eat and drinks twenty cups of coffee a day. You’re doing great, Alex.” She gave him a blank, flat look. Was he seriously doing this right now? Apparently. “Look, if you feel like I have you trapped and that I’m taking away your freedom, you need to go. If you go, it’ll be trouble, but if you stay, it’ll be double… So just fucking leave, Alexander. It isn’t like that isn’t what you want.” She rebuked. 

Alex sighed, standing his ground. He just stared at her for a moment, eyes boring into her soul. “You’re throwing a fit.” He decided, finally.  
“Of course I’m throwing a fit. You’re never home, you never touch me, and something tells me that you’re cheating on me.” She replied.   
“It isn’t like you to throw a fit.”   
“It isn’t like me not to stand up for myself.” She retorted. 

They fell silent for a moment. The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall was the only thing that broke the piercing silence. Tick, tick, tick. Eliza was counting the ticks to keep herself calm, slow her heart. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her - not physically, at least - it just wasn’t in his nature. 

Tick, tick, tick.

They were both still standing their ground, both still glaring at each other, looking as ready to charge as bulls.

Tick, tick, tick.

Suddenly, he made a move. She was pushed against the counter, his chest pressed to hers as his hands roamed down to the hem of her Clash shirt, lips together, moving in sync with one another. He dragged the bottom of her shirt up, and she raised her arms so that he could pull it over her head. He threw it on the floor. 

Maybe he should stay.


End file.
